Love's Mask
by Akira Ichijouji
Summary: A Majora's Mask fic -- Link/Kafei, which means it is SLASH. Link is entranced by the beautiful boy he sees crying one night by the laundry pool -- but even with all time at his disposal, he'll only have three days with this mysterious boy...


Disclaimer: I don't own Legend of Zelda – that series of fabulous games belongs to Nintendo and the ever-present Miyamoto. This saddens me, for I would like nothing more than to claim ownership of Link, and Kafei, and possibly Malon/Cremia. They're all just so…pretty. ^_^

Warnings: Major spoilers ahead! If you haven't completed the Kafei and Anju trading sequence in Majora's Mask and have no wish to have it spoiled, don't read this! Also, this is slash. Shounen-ai. Two gorgeous boys in love. Wai.

A/N: Oh dear…*giggles* I finally wrote a Zelda fic. It was sort of a daunting task, but I knew it had to be done as soon as I saw Kafei's pretty face in the back of the Curiosity Shop. He and Link are just so…pretty (must stop using this word now). And they're the same height. Exactly. (Don't ask me why this is a reason I want to set them up. My mind works in mysterious ways.) Also, they were both adults at one point in time – they could understand that about each other. Not to mention that Kafei needs some _serious_ cheering up (although his eyes are just so pretty [oops] and sad). Only problem is: Anju. If Link and Kafei ever did inexplicably have a "thing", there is the whole fact that Kafei's engaged, etc…Also they'd only have three days. *sniff* Well, that's that. I have a feeling I'm going to get flamed horribly for this, but oh well. I will simply bottle the flames for future use, stick them in my knapsack, and forget about them until I need to melt some ice or light some torches. Thankee much.

PS: Oh _horrors_, the title _sucks_. I can't think of _anything_ that's better, however – only a bunch of things that are so, so much worse. Just deal with it. ^_~

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Love's Mask

By Akira Ichijouji

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_Part One_

If someone had gone to the laundry pool at midnight two days before the Festival of Time, they would have thought it deserted, save one frog croaking madly by the water.

This would have been incorrect, as a young boy was indeed there, sitting quietly in the dark, half-asleep, on a bench near the south wall.

He was drowsy, eyes nearly closed, the stars seeming an adequate enough place to stare unseeingly. He tried to avoid looking at the enormous moon in any way, for it always seemed to be looking directly at him, almost as if it knew he was trying to set things straight. He couldn't help it, though; his eyes were irresistibly drawn to stare back.

Link was exhausted. There was no vacancy at the Stock Pot Inn (as usual), and the racket made by the carpenters day and night kept him from finding silence and solitude anywhere else. He had lost track of the number of times he had repeated the past three days – or were they the next three days? It made his head spin; every time he played the Song of Time it was as if something was growing steadily off-kilter. No one was meant to travel in time, he was sure of it. Slowing down time was even worse. It was as if everyone else was moving through syrup and he was not; he flitted from location to location like an out-of-place dragonfly, moving almost too quickly for the eye to see.

Right then time was normal. He couldn't stand the octave-lower buzzing of the trees and the echoes of clocks ticking in his brain any longer. Right then, he was going to sit there, rest, maybe fall asleep. What was a few hours when all of time was at his disposal?

So Link sat silently, arms about his knees, head resting against the wall, when a sound woke him from his almost-slumber.

At first, the Hylian boy wasn't sure at all he had heard anything, the noise had been so quiet; but when he looked up, he froze.

A small figure was moving along the path from the almost-hidden door in the back corner. As it advanced silently across the bridge, it passed from under the shadows and Link could finally make out what had confused him about the shape of its head.

It was wearing a mask. A Keaton mask, if Link could trust his eyes.

Link sat stilly, transfixed, as the small figure moved completely into the moonlight, sitting down softly beneath the branches of a small tree. It sighed, a musical sound, and removed the mask.

The breath caught in Link's throat. His first thought was that this was a little girl, but no – it was a young boy, as close to his own age as one could get. But this boy was _beautiful_.

His shoulder-length hair, shining blue-purple in the moonlight, looked soft and fragile; his skin was a milky shade of white that was clear and unblemished, making Link feel self-conscious of his own tanned (and in some places freckled) skin; his hands disappeared into large sleeves, which, strangely enough, made him seem very vulnerable and innocent; his eyes were large and slanted and _sad_.

The small boy slumped against the tree, fingering the mask in his lap. His lovely hair shrouded his face, but, with a sort of jolt, Link realized the other boy was crying silently. Maybe not quite so silently, as it was a small sniffle that alerted Link to the fact, but silently enough for Link to sit as if paralyzed, afraid of making a sound to alert the vision sitting before him.

After a while the other boy dried his eyes, which had a steadfast look to them – a brave look.

Then he began to sing softly.

Link's eyes widened at the tranquil, bell-like tones that seemed to capture the essence of the stars within them. He felt all sense of foreboding and worry disappear, and for the first time in an immeasurable number of minutes and hours and days he felt as if he were meant to be sometime. He lamented at the number of times this had happened before, and that he had missed even as he stared transfixed at the lovely boy before him. And for once, Link fervently wished that he could reach for his ocarina and slow time, slow time until this was all there was for an eternity.

All too soon it was over, and the Keaton boy again covered his exquisite features with the plain yellow mask, leaving the laundry pool to head back through the door, leaving Link to catch his breath.

The young Hylian boy let out the breath he had been holding, sliding down until he lay on his back along the wooden bench. He wished he'd known what had made the other boy so sad; in a dreamy moment he imagined himself brushing away those silent tears and kissing their tracks on the other's face.

He fell asleep like that, dreams full of soft hair and softer lips, and he gave a happy sigh.

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Link found himself going back in time to repeat that night countless times. The six-hour wait until midnight was nearly maddening, but Link sat through it, tapping his fingers impatiently on the bench and attempting to slow the furious anticipatory pounding of his heart. Tat'l wasn't speaking to him; the yellow fairy felt he was wasting time and abusing the power of his ocarina. Link knew she was right, but couldn't help going back to watch the boy any more than he could help being the Hero of Time.

This night was different, however: Link's heart fluttered in his chest and he had to remind himself to breath; he would talk to the boy tonight. Make his presence known. Even the fact that he could go back in time as many times as he wanted to get that moment right wasn't helping him be calm in the slightest.

Sunset came and went, and it became dark once more in Link's corner. He had only to wait.

The young Hylian boy had fallen asleep when the soft click of the door opening woke him. The masked boy walked round the path, over the bridge and sat down by the tree. Then he cried, and began to sing.

Link was transfixed, as usual, and almost didn't notice when the masked boy got up to leave. He had reached the bridge when Link spoke up tentatively. "Wait, don't go." He stepped into the light.

The blue-haired boy gave a start, whirling around, mask dropping from nerveless fingers. He began backing away, eyes wide and shocked. He looked like he was about to make a run for it, so Link stepped forward once more.

"Please, don't go," he said plaintively, stretching out a hand.

The blue-haired boy stopped in his tracks, fixing his beautiful sad eyes on Link's. The blond-haired boy's heart again fluttered in his chest, but this time, it was for a more pleasant reason.

"Who are you?" the boy with the mask whispered, eyes wide and lips parted ever-so-slightly.

"Link," he said simply, lowering his outstretched hand and twisting it nervously in skirt of his tunic. There was a loaded pause, and Link finally replied: "Who are _you_?"

"Ka…" the boy froze in mid-speech, eyes suddenly horrified. "I…I can't tell you my name." Then something occurred to him, and he swooped down to pick up the fallen mask. "You-You shouldn't even have seen my face," he said frantically, attempting to put on the mask once more.

Link caught his wrist, slowly lowering the now-limp hand so that the mask dropped to the ground, forgotten, once more.

"Please tell me your name," Link whispered. The blue-haired boy's eyes were downcast, but then he raised them, meeting Link's once again.

"I can't," he said, eyes tormented.

"Please…you can trust me," the fair-haired boy said softly. He slid his palm down that perfect wrist, curling his fingers round the pale hand just below.

"K-Kafei," the masked boy said, two high points of color appearing just above his cheekbones. "My name is Kafei."

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End Part One

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A/N: I may or may not continue this. We'll see. ^_^


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